


(where the) Mountains touch the Sky

by fandomlver



Category: Power Rangers in Space, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, It's still Hallowe'en somewhere, NaNo 2014, So this is totally in time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5119049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomlver/pseuds/fandomlver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine mission for Aramis and d'Artagnan becomes a rescue mission, and then escort duty, and then a mission to save all of France...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Are we really in that much of a hurry?” d'Artagnan calls ahead. “It’s finally stopped raining, we are neither of us injured, and the others don’t expect us until tomorrow afternoon. Why the rush?”

Aramis slows his horse a fraction, allowing d’Artagnan to fall into step again. “You do know what day today is?”

d'Artagnan considers for a moment before scowling. “Really? Do you think me a child, to be afraid because of the date?”

“Not just any date,” Aramis points out. “Today is All Hallows Eve.”

“It’s just another night, Aramis.”

Aramis blesses himself. “Tell me, d'Artagnan, when you were a boy did you have mummers on All Hallow’s Eve? Carve turnips? Did you dress up?”

“I didn’t dress up, but yes. Why?”

“Because All Hallow’s Eve is a night of prayer and fasting to honour the souls of those who have gone before. It’s not an excuse for a party.”

“It’s just a night, Aramis…”

“No,” Aramis says firmly. “It is the night to remember those we have lost and honour their memories.”

d'Artagnan studies him for a moment before nodding. “All right. Perhaps we celebrated differently at – in Lupiac.”

“Perhaps you did,” Aramis murmurs.

Their mission is almost over and they’re heading back towards Paris. They’re meant to meet the others in a small village a day outside of the city, but Aramis has to admit they probably won’t make it before nightfall now, and it’s dangerous to ride in the dark. Much as he hates to admit it, they really need to stop and camp.

“There’s a clearing over there.” d'Artagnan lifts his chin towards the side of the road. Peering in that direction, Aramis makes out a clearing a few feet back. Far enough that they can stay hidden with a modicum of effort, not so far that they won’t be able to see what’s happening on the road if they should need to.

“Good. Let’s go, then.”

“We can keep riding if you want to,” d'Artagnan offers innocently. “If you’d rather get to the meeting place before dark. I know how much you hate being out here.”

“Shut up and find some wood for a fire.”

d'Artagnan grins, tying the horses to a fallen tree and rapidly rubbing them down before heading into the trees. Aramis busies himself with their food supplies. d'Artagnan reappears after a few minutes with a dead rabbit and enough wood to get the fire started before vanishing again. By the time he comes back Aramis has the rabbit on a spit and their bedrolls laid out to warm by the fire.

d'Artagnan settles on his bedroll, watching the fire for a while before he asks “Does it really bother you? Being out here tonight?”

Aramis considers his answer carefully. “When you’ve been in the world a while longer, d'Artagnan, you’ll learn that there are things in the world that defy expectation. I don’t truly expect to meet any ghosts out here, but there are other things we might see.”

d'Artagnan studies him carefully. “But not ghosts.”

“Not ghosts,” Aramis assures him.

“Have you ever seen a ghost?”

Aramis grins and begins spinning a tale. It’s entertaining, it’s scary, it keeps d'Artagnan listening carefully, and he thinks some of it might even be true, maybe, under the layer of embellishment Aramis isn’t being subtle about.

It lasts until the rabbit is ready, and then they’re too busy eating to talk. When it’s done d'Artagnan lies back on his bedroll, full and warm, and watches sparks rise from the fire to merge into the stars overhead.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Aramis says after a while.

“I don’t mind,” d'Artagnan offers. He’s going to spend half the night awake anyway, it doesn’t much matter which half it is.

“No. Get some rest. I’ll wake you for your watch.”

d'Artagnan closes his eyes, aware as Aramis pokes the fire to settle it for the night and then settles on his own bedroll, ready to keep watch.

It feels like only a few minutes later when he wakes to Aramis’ hand on his shoulder; he wakes silently, as he’s trained himself, and Aramis nods at him. “Someone’s coming,” he breathes, backing up a little to let d'Artagnan sit up.

“Friend or foe?”

“Can’t tell yet.” Aramis sits back on his heels, watching the woods to d'Artagnan’s left.

d'Artagnan finds his pistol and sword by feel, watching the trees. Someone is crashing around in there, making no effort at all to be secretive. “Doesn’t care if we know they’re there,” he offers.

“Sounds like only one,” Aramis adds.

“So probably not an attack,” d'Artagnan finishes, rising to his feet.

Aramis heads for the treeline; d'Artagnan stays behind him to one side, covering him just in case this is a distraction. “Who’s there?” he calls. “Show yourself, in the name of the King’s Musketeers.”

There’s dead silence for a moment and then someone coming straight towards them. Aramis backs away, moving to one side, away from d'Artagnan without even looking at him.

A figure stumbles out of the treeline, almost collapsing before catching itself. Aramis makes an abortive move to help, backing carefully towards d'Artagnan. “Get a torch,” he murmurs softly.

It only takes him a moment to light a branch and turn back to them; in that moment, Aramis has gone to his knees beside the crumpled figure. d'Artagnan moves close enough for the torch to light them both, flushing violently. “Aramis!”

“I know,” Aramis agrees without looking up. “More light, d’Artagnan.”

“She’s not wearing anything!” d'Artagnan hisses.

Aramis glances up. “She’s hardly naked, d'Artagnan, and she’s injured. More light, please.”

d’Artagnan manages to get close enough for Aramis’ liking without having to watch as he tends the injured girl. Aramis is right, she’s not naked, but he’s never seen anything like the clothes she’s wearing; a skin tight top under a looser jacket, and tight trousers. The top's bright yellow where it's not smudged with smoke and must have cost a lot.

“I think she’s been in some kind of accident,” Aramis says, sounding puzzled. “Her head is injured, and her clothes smell of smoke. She’s bruised on her arms, here.”

“Will you stop touching her,” d’Artagnan hisses.

“I have to check for injuries,” Aramis says, and it’s probably true but it’s still making d'Artagnan very uncomfortable.

The girl heaves in a sudden breath, waking with a jerk and halfway to her feet before she gasps and sinks back down. Aramis has backed up a little, enough to give her space without being too far to catch her if she falls again. d'Artagnan turns to look at them, trying not to scowl until he knows what’s happening.

“Do you hurt anywhere?” Aramis asks. The girl stares at him, worrying her lower lip, and he smiles gently. “We are King’s Musketeers, mademoiselle. Whatever has happened to you, you’re safe now. Do you hurt anywhere?”

She blinks suddenly. “No. I’m sorry. No. I don’t hurt anywhere.”

“Are you sure?” he prodded lightly. “You collapsed a few moments ago.”

“No,” she insisted. “I’m fine. I was only – surprised. I’m not hurt.”

“Were you attacked?” d'Artagnan asks. She glances up and he adds “Your clothes,” waving the torch vaguely towards her.

She looks down at herself as though puzzled, but she nods. “Yes. I was attacked. But I’m not hurt,” she adds quickly to Aramis.

“If nothing else, you must be cold,” he says briskly, reaching for her hands and drawing her to her feet. She sways a little but corrects it before he can step in to help her.

d'Artagnan follows them to the fire, watching as Aramis urges her onto his bedroll and drapes his cloak over her shoulders. It’s a little easier to look at her when she’s hidden under the shapeless cloth. “Are there others in your party?” he asks, crouching across the fire from her. “Should we go and look for them?”

The girl looks up from the fire as though startled. “Pardon?”

“Your party,” d'Artagnan repeats.

“Oh –“ She glances back the way she came from. “They’re together, I think. We got separated.”

“During the attack? Or before it?”

She frowns, biting her lip again. “Before it,” she says finally. “I was alone when I was attacked.”

d'Artagnan looks up at Aramis. “I can go look, see if I can find them,” he suggests.

Aramis shakes his head. “It’s dark, and if there’s bandits around…how many in your group, mademoiselle?”

She startles again, and d'Artagnan wonders if there’s some injury she’s concealing. Of course, Aramis said she has a head injury, and he knows from miserable experience how hard it can be to concentrate after a blow to the head. “Five, and me.”

“Five,” Aramis repeats, looking at d'Artagnan. “If they’re smart, they’ve stayed together and they’ll be fine. We can look for them in the morning.”

d'Artagnan nods, lowering the torch back into the fire and seating himself. “My name is d'Artagnan,” he offers.

The girl blinks, studying him, and this time it’s not the same surprise as before, it’s something different. “Ashley.”

“Ashley,” he repeats. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

She smiles without answering, and Aramis bows as best he can while sitting down. “Aramis.”

She mouths the name to herself without actually saying it. d'Artagnan rolls his eyes, looking at Aramis. “Of course she recognises your name.” Aramis spreads his hands innocently and d'Artagnan snorts.

“Recognise,” Ashley repeats. “No, I’m sorry, I only – I thought I’d heard it before. I don’t remember where, though.”

Something about her sentences seems strange to d'Artagnan. Her French is perfect, there’s no trace of any foreign accent, but still it’s off, somehow. It reminds him of the people he knew in Gascony, the ones who learned just enough French to get by. Their sentences were always just slightly off, oddly constructed. Nothing that would make them incomprehensible, just enough to trigger the ear if one knows what to listen for. Ashley’s words sound like that, but he’s not sure why.

He can’t tell if Aramis has noticed, either. Aramis asks again whether Ashley is injured, he offers her food – she refuses – and wine – she asks for water instead, and d'Artagnan thinks the offer itself surprised her. Once she’s finished Aramis urges her to lie down and relax.

“Isn’t this yours?” she protests, looking at the bedroll.

“I’ll be on watch anyway,” Aramis assures her. “Someone should use it.”

She looks to d'Artagnan, who nods. “Get some rest, mademoiselle. You may need it tomorrow, looking for your friends.”

Ashley gives in, lying down and pulling the cloak around herself. Aramis stokes the fire, making sure it’ll last through the night; if her friends are still moving around, it might give them something to aim for.

d'Artagnan checks on the horses and then settles himself on his own bedroll, tugging it a polite distance from Ashley’s. She seems to be asleep, but he lies awake anyway. Aramis doesn’t bother waking him to take a watch. They both know the other isn’t sleeping.

 

Ashley sleeps through their dismantling their camp and only wakes when they’re discussing how to search for her friends. “Oh,” she says, sitting up and squinting sleepily at them. “Am I delaying you?”

“Not at all,” Aramis assures her. “There’s a stream just through there.” He points through the trees; she follows his pointing hand and then climbs to her feet. She’s ended up with both cloaks during the night. d'Artagnan watches as she considers them and then offers one to him; it’s Aramis’, but she has no way to know that, so he just smiles and accepts it. She wraps the other around herself as she passes through the trees to find the stream.

d'Artagnan pauses what he’s doing to look at Aramis once she’s out of view. Aramis shrugs. “She does seem to be in trouble.”

“There’s something odd about the way she talks,” d'Artagnan murmurs.

Aramis hums non-committedly, glancing at the horses. “Make sure they’re taken care of. We’ll have to search on foot, we can’t bring them through the undergrowth.” 

d'Artagnan obeys, making sure the reins are long enough for the horses to graze and that they’re comfortable. Ashley reappears as he works, pausing to watch him, and he glances up to acknowledge her.

Her hair’s pulled back, and she’s wearing earrings. Small, studded earrings, but still earrings. He nods thoughtfully to her, turning back to finish with the horses. She doesn’t seem like a high born lady, but there are few other options and he’s not very comfortable with any of them.

Aramis notices – of course he does – but he doesn’t react, only offers Ashley some of the left over food. “Soldier’s rations,” he says apologetically.

"I've had worse," she assures him. She makes a face at the cold meat, but gamely eats it anyway.

"Have you?" Aramis asks, passing her the last of the bread. d'Artagnan recognises the tactic; if she's concentrating on her answers, she's likely to eat more without realising it.

"My friends and I once went to a pla – a place where the main meat was a sort of slug. It actually didn't taste that bad, but it felt awful when you bit into it."

"I imagine it did," Aramis agrees.

"I ate worms once," d'Artagnan offers, and then blinks. He hadn't meant to admit to that.

Ashley wrinkles her nose in disgust. "For a dare, or something?"

"Not exactly," he murmurs, turning back to the saddlebags and pretending to search through them.

To her credit, Ashley doesn't ask any more, only nods. "Well, this is far better than the slug." She looks up suddenly. "Have I just eaten all your food?"

"It doesn't matter," Aramis tells her. "It's more important to keep you well right now." He considers her for a moment. "d'Artagnan, do you have a spare tunic?"

d'Artagnan turns back to the saddlebags, unearthing a spare tunic that's been in there for some time. It's clean, though, and he shakes out the worst of the creases before offering it to Ashley. "It's too big for you," he says apologetically. "But it's better than what you have."

Ashley blinks at him. "I can't take your clothes."

"And we can't leave you in what you're wearing." He waves the tunic at her again, and she takes it reluctantly, retreating behind the nearest tree to pull it on.

When she reappears Aramis approaches, smiling politely. "Forgive me," he says, turning her bodily around to face away from him. Twining both hands in her hair, he twists it up into a loose knot and puts his hat over it, tugging it low in front. Freeing one of the sashes from beneath his belt, he gives it to her and gestures her to use it as a belt. "If we see anyone," he tells her, "keep your head down and do not speak. If we're lucky, no one will take much notice of you."

Ashley quickly secures the sash and looks up. "Are we worried about that?"

"No," d'Artagnan says before Aramis can answer. "Aramis is just being careful. You've already been attacked once."

"Yes, of course," she murmurs. "Thank you."

Aramis nods briskly. "You came from this side," he tells her, stepping towards the treeline. "Do you remember which way you travelled before you found us?"

Ashley studies the trees, shaking her head in defeat. "I'm sorry. I don't remember. I was just moving."

"That's all right," Aramis says cheerfully. "When people are injured and running, they take the easiest paths. We'll track you easily enough."

"What are your friends' names?" d'Artagnan asks.

Ashley blinks at him for a moment. "Cassie," she says after a moment. "TJ – Theodore. Carlos. Andros, and Zhane."

Most of those names mean nothing to d'Artagnan, but he glances at Aramis and catches the raised eyebrow. "Carlos," he repeats. "Your friend is Spanish?"

"No," Ashley says, too slowly for him to believe it. "His parents were, but he isn't."

"I don't know those names," Aramis comments, stepping through the treeline to study the ground. "Where are you from, Ashley?"

"A long way from here," Ashley murmurs. "I think I remember that slope."

She's pointing upwards, and d'Artagnan nods. "You probably came down it. Let's go up and look around."

He meets Aramis' eyes as he steps past, and he knows he's not alone in his suspicions.

 

“We’re going to find her.”

Andros doesn’t react, staring at the base of the top bunk.

“Ash is smart,” Zhane tries. “She’ll be fine.” Andros manages to seem disbelieving without moving a muscle, and Zhane sighs. “We had to get the Megaship back into orbit,” he reminds Andros. “I’m sorry I – actually, I’m not sorry I wouldn’t let you go look for her. Without you, we’d still be on the ground and we’d probably have been attacked by now. The repairs needed all of us.”

“I know all that,” Andros rolls over, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bunk. “It’s Ashley, Zhane.”

Zhane nods quietly. “It’s Ashley, and we’re going to find her.”

“We should be down there already.” Andros is tense with the effort of holding himself still.

“As soon as the scanners decide where we are,” Zhane says patiently. “You know we can’t go until we know where we are. She’s fine, Andros.”

Andros nods, focusing on Zhane for the first time. “What about you, your arm? And TJ’s ankle?”

Zhane runs through the range of motion available to him; most of it, and it’s his off arm besides. “I’ll be fine in a day or so. And TJ’s fine, except for when he forgets and tries to turn on it.”

Andros nods again. “What’s wrong with the scanners?”

“They can’t decide where we are,” Zhane tells him. “That vortex must have scrambled the circuits. We can’t even tell what galaxy we’re in.”

“Any sign of the monster we were fighting?”

“Not yet, but that doesn’t mean anything. The way the scanners are now, he could probably swim right up to the hull and knock before we knew he was there.”

“You don’t swim in space, Zhane,” Andros says dryly, but there’s a reluctant smile on his face.

Zhane waves it away. “We didn’t destroy him, we know that. He’ll turn back up.”

“Probably at the worst possible time,” Andros mutters. “Come on, let’s go get the scanners working so we can find Ashley.”

 

d'Artagnan stands on the edge of a crater, one hand holding a fold of his cloak across his nose and mouth. Every so often he glances down the slope, away from the destruction, to where Ashley is waiting. Mostly, though, he’s concentrating on trying to see through the clouds of ash and dirt, trying to watch Aramis as he explores the new valley.

The trees have all fallen, leaning towards d'Artagnan where he’s standing at the highest point of the crater walls. Some of them have been smashed to pieces. Tiny fires smoulder here and there, and d'Artagnan is quietly grateful they’ve had so much rain recently. Otherwise the whole forest might have gone up in flames.

Aramis emerges from a cloud of ash, making his way up the crater wall towards them. d'Artagnan hauls him up over the edge and immediately has to turn away to cough, waving one hand uselessly to try and disperse the cloud of ash and dust that accompanies Aramis. As soon as he’s out in the air he bends double, hacking desperately. d'Artagnan touches his shoulder, bracing him and trying not to kick up any of the dust coating his clothes.

Ashley appears with both the water skins in her hands as Aramis’ cough splutters to a halt; she backs down the slope again once d'Artagnan has taken the skins, spreading her hands apologetically. Aramis smiles gratefully, thumping himself to clear as much of the dust off as possible. d'Artagnan lends a hand, holding his breath as he works.

Once he’s as clean as he can get by hand, Aramis opens the first water skin and tips it up over his head, rubbing a hand through his hair. Dusty water streams down over his chest and back. d'Artagnan takes a couple of steps back, finally letting his cloak fall away from his face.

“How does it look?” he asks, when Aramis lowers the ‘skin.

He gestures for the other one, taking a mouthful of water and spitting it out before taking a few sips. “Something very, very big crashed onto the trees.”

“Crashed onto them,” d'Artagnan repeats. “How? Something that big, we would have known about it, we’d have heard something. And where is it gone? This happened recently.”

“Excellent questions,” Aramis says briskly. Looking past d'Artagnan, he gestures Ashley to come up and join them.

She’s very carefully not looking at the crater, d'Artagnan notes, keeping her eyes on Aramis. “Are you all right?”

“A little dusty,” Aramis says with a smile. “I’ll clean. Are you sure you came from here?”

Ashley’s gaze slides past him, and she snaps it back to him. “I don’t remember seeing this, but I came down a long slope. It was very uneven, I remember I nearly fell a couple of times.”

This is the only slope they’ve found, and it’s new and uneven. d'Artagnan takes a step or two away from her to look over the edge again. He can’t imagine anyone seeing this and forgetting. “How long was that after you got separated from your friends?”

“Not very long,” Ashley says vaguely.

“There’s no one down there,” Aramis says quietly. “There can’t be, they’d have choked to death by now. I was only down there a few minutes.”

As if on cue he breaks out coughing again, deep, racking coughs that shake his whole body. d'Artagnan braces him again, more firmly this time. Ashley takes a step back, frowning; she takes the empty ‘skin from d'Artagnan and slides back down the slope towards the trees below.

Aramis heaves in a breath, turning his head to spit to one side. “That is nasty,” he murmurs. “It tastes foul.”

Ashley climbs back towards them, passing over the full ‘skin; Aramis smiles gratefully, swilling a mouthful and spiting it back out before taking several swallows. “Thank you,” he murmurs, taking another drink.

“Are you sure there’s nothing down there?” she asks quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Aramis says sincerely. “If your friends were down there, they aren’t any more.”

“Did you see anything?” d'Artagnan asks carefully, trying not to be too clear.

Aramis shakes his head briskly. “I couldn’t see much. Too much smoke and ash.”

d'Artagnan glances up at the sky, trying to gauge the time. “Aramis…”

“I know,” Aramis agrees, taking another drink. Lowering the skin, he turns to Ashley. “Ashley, I’m sorry. If your friends were here, they aren’t any more. Our friends are waiting for us. Let us take you to wherever you were going.”

“I can’t leave without them,” Ashley says firmly. “Thank you for all your help, monsieurs. I’ll keep looking on my own.”

“We can’t leave you out here,” d'Artagnan tells her. Glancing at the sky again, he looks at Aramis. “Go and meet the others. I’ll stay here and help Ashley look some more.”

“You don’t have any supplies,” Aramis protests. “You can’t stay out here another night.”

“We can get to the village in an hour. We’ll look until an hour before dark, and then we’ll come and meet you.” d'Artagnan looks at Ashley for her input. “That’s all the time we can spend,” he says apologetically. “And don’t try and tell us to leave you here again. We’re not going to do it.”

Ashley stares from him to Aramis and back. “All right,” she says reluctantly. “Thank you.”

Aramis nods reluctantly. “ _Don’t_ be late. I’m not explaining this to Athos.”

“We won’t,” d'Artagnan promises, passing him the partly emptied ‘skin. “Take it easy, you’re injured.”

Aramis makes a face at him, turning to Ashley. “Mademoiselle, I hope you will understand when I say that I hope I won’t see you later.”

Ashley smiles. “I feel exactly the same way, monsieur. Thank you for all your help.”

Aramis nods, heading away down the slope, back towards where they left the horses. d'Artagnan glances around the crater, picking out something that looks like a path on one side. “Let’s try this way.”

 

“It can’t possibly be right,” TJ says for the fourth time.

“Everything’s working,” Andros says, just as he has every time so far. “The results are right.”

“They can’t possibly be right.” TJ gestures to the view screen. “That’s not Earth.”

“Of course it’s Earth, look at it.” Cassie props her head on her fist, leaning on her board. She wasn’t injured in the crash, but she hasn’t stopped working since, desperate to get the Megaship working so that they can track Ashley down.

“Then where’s the lights? Where’s the radio signals? TV signals, satellites? Where’s NASADA?”

Carlos glances around as his board beeps, finally finished with the calculations he’s been struggling with. “According to this…” He trails off, staring at it.

“According to that what?” TJ demands, turning towards him. He forgets again, all his weight on his bad ankle, and he has to catch himself on the nav controls.

“According to this,” Carlos repeats numbly, “it’s 1630.”

“It’s what?” Cassie says in surprise.

“1630,” Carlos repeats.

Zhane frowns. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s our dating system,” Cassie says blankly. “It should be 1998. We’ve gone back three hundred and sixty years.”

“The vortex,” Andros mutters, turning to pull up the sensor records.

“Must have been,” TJ agrees, coming to join him to scan the readings. None of them are as quick as Andros, of course, but J can at least pick out the wrong readings. “There?” he suggests, pointing at one section.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Can we get back?” Cassie asks.

“Never mind that,” TJ says quickly. “We really have to find Ashley. She won’t have any idea what’s going on.”

“Where did we crash?” Cassie asks, turning back to her board. “France,” she answers herself a moment later. “Who knows anything about French history?”

“I know a bit,” TJ offers.

“How safe are we going to be?”

TJ glances apologetically at Carlos. “They were at war with Spain, on and off. I might be in trouble, most black people were slaves. You, I’m not sure.”

“We’ll just have to manage.”

“We’re not exactly dressed for it,” TJ points out.

“Doesn’t matter,” Cassie starts, but he’s shaking his head.

“It does matter; you meet anyone and they’ll think you’re – you know.” He coughs, looking away

“Think she’s what?” Zhane asks, and Cassie starts to snap at him before realising he’s serious.

"I'll explain later," she tells him. "TJ, we'll just have to manage. Can we get clothes somewhere?"

"Yeah. Let me check it out."

 

Ashley doesn't complain when d'Artagnan tells her they have to go. She follows along patiently as they return to the camp, watching as d'Artagnan saddles his horse and packs their belongings away. Once he’s ready, he mounts and holds out a hand to help her up. “Have you ridden before?”

“Not for a while.” Ashley grips his hand, hauling herself up to sit behind him. 

d'Artagnan sits still as she settles herself. “Hold on to me,” he tells her, nudging the horse forward.

After a couple of minutes she settles into the ride, figuring out how to hold on without getting in his way. The hat she’s still wearing pokes him a couple of times; after the third time she seems to realise it, taking it off and tucking it down the front of her tunic. She doesn’t try to talk to him.

Porthos is leaning against a tree on the outskirts of the village, whittling idly. He tosses it away as they approach; d'Artagnan reins in, looking down at him. “How angry is Athos?”

Porthos motions _so-so_ , looking up at Ashley. “Mademoiselle.”

“Monsieur,” Ashley answers.

d'Artagnan twists slightly to look at her. “Can you get down?”

“Oh! Yes.” She lets go of him, twisting to get off without kicking him; Porthos steadies her easily, stepping back as soon as she’s steady.

d'Artagnan bounces down after her, glancing towards the village. “The others?”

“Tavern.”

“Of course they are, where else.” He glances at Ashley. “Ashley, this is Porthos, another Musketeer.”

“Mademoiselle.” Porthos sweeps his hat off, bowing. Ashley nods politely, and he turns to d'Artagnan. “Go on. I’ll take care of the horse.”

“Thank you.”

d'Artagnan leads Ashley to the tavern. She’s glancing around as they go, taking everything in as though she’s never been in a village before. She doesn’t ask any questions though, just follows him patiently.

In the tavern, he turns automatically to the darkest corner. Aramis is there, talking animatedly to Athos and, for once, ignoring the waitress who’s hovering nearby. Both men look up at his entrance.

“Come on,” he murmurs to Ashley. She nods, following him between the tables to join the others.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan says formally, “may I present Mademoiselle Ashley. Ashley, the Musketeer Athos.”

Athos rises to perform a perfect bow. “Mademoiselle.”

“Monsieur,” Ashley answers, curtseying.

He sits, waving her to a seat. “No sign of your friends?”

d'Artagnan shakes his head. “We looked all over the area. There’s no sign that anyone left the crater, and Aramis is sure there’s no one in it.”

“Where were you headed?” Athos asks Ashley.

She shakes her head. “We weren’t going anywhere in particular. Just traveling.”

“Is there somewhere they will look for you?” She spreads her hands helplessly and he nods. “In that case, mademoiselle, we will escort you to Paris and do our best to make sure you’re safe there.”

“I really…” Ashley bites her lip. “You’ve gone to such trouble already. I don’t feel I dare ask you for anything else.”

“We’re Musketeers,” d'Artagnan reminds her. “This is what we do.”

“Rescue lost young ladies?”

“Help those who need it,” Athos says mildly. “d'Artagnan, we have two rooms upstairs, the owner will show you. Make sure the mademoiselle has anything she needs, and then come back down here.”

d'Artagnan nods, rising to his feet. Ashley scrambles to her feet to follow him, thanking Athos again as she goes.

The owner shows d'Artagnan upstairs. One of the rooms already has saddle bags in it, but the other is empty, so d'Artagnan waves Ashley into it. “The fewer people who see you, the better,” he explains, waving vaguely at her clothes.

Ashley glances down at herself, nodding. “I am kind of a mess.”

“I’ll bring you up something to eat,” he promises. “Is there anything else you need?”

Ashley glances around the room, tilting the jug on the side table to check there’s water in it. “No, I’ll be fine. Thank you. You really don’t have to take me to Paris, you know.”

“Unless we can find your friends, we really do,” d'Artagnan says. “Unless there’s some reason you don’t want to go there.”

“No reason,” she says absently, crossing to the window to look out. “I’m just worried about my friends.”

“We’ll ask the locals to keep an ear out. If anyone comes looking for you, we’ll get a message.”

Ashley looks back at him, smiling ruefully. “I must sound very ungrateful, complaining like this.”

“You sound like you’re worried about your friends. I understand. But we can’t leave you out here with no one to help you or protect you, and we can’t stay any longer.”

“I understand,” she agrees. “Thank you. Is Athos going to be angry with you?”

d'Artagnan shrugs, smiling faintly. “He’ll probably make me train more than usual. That’s about it. He wouldn’t have done anything different.” He glances at the door. “Lock this, and only open it for one of us, understand?”

“I understand,” she promises quickly, following him to the door. He waits until he hears the lock click and then heads downstairs.

Athos glances up as he returns, and he says defensively “We couldn’t leave her out there. Someone attacked her.”

“I’ve said nothing,” Athos says mildly.

Porthos rejoins them, slinging d'Artagnan’s bag at his feet. “Is he pretending he’s not pissed?” he asks interestedly, sitting and reaching for Aramis’ cup.

“So far,” Aramis agrees, poking him and reclaiming the cup.

“Sit,” Athos says, ignoring the byplay.

d'Artagnan obeys. Athos pushes a plate towards him and he picks at it absently. “She’s in trouble,” he says quietly.

“Aramis tells me you think there’s something strange about her.”

“Not about her. Just the way she speaks. Her sentences are strange, sometimes. As though she’s translating, all the time.”

“Like French isn’t her mother tongue?” Porthos asks.

“Maybe.”

“She’s got no accent.”

“She wouldn’t tell us where she’s from.” He glances at Aramis for backup. “And one of her friends, the missing ones, has a Spanish name. She says he’s not Spanish, his parents were. I didn’t even recognise the other names.”

Athos considers for a moment. “But you think she is in trouble?”

“She had been hurt,” Aramis says quietly.

Athos nods, leaning back against the wall. “Well, we shall keep an eye on her. Tell me about this crater you found.”

 

d'Artagnan brings some food up for Ashley later, but apart from that she doesn’t see him, or any of the others, until he taps on the door the next morning. She’s dressed and ready, following him downstairs to the taproom. It’s empty apart from Athos, sitting at the same table as last night.

d'Artagnan ushers Ashley into a seat and sits across from her, beside Athos. Athos only grunts and shoves a plate of bread and sliced meat towards her; Ashley thanks him politely, helping herself and pushing the plate back towards d'Artagnan.

“Where are you from, mademoiselle?” Athos asks after a minute. “Is there no one looking for you?”

She shakes her head, swallowing quickly. “Only my friends. There’s no one else looking for me.”

“You’re quite sure?”

“Quite sure,” she echoes, smiling ruefully and reaching for another piece of bread.

“Where are the others?” d'Artagnan asks.

“Packing up the horses,” Athos says without looking at him. “I don’t believe I caught where you’re from, mademoiselle.”

“I don’t believe I told you,” Ashley says, and she can see the moment d'Artagnan realises what she’s said, fooled by her polite tone. “I’m not really from anywhere,” she adds before Athos can respond. “I’ve always travelled a lot. My home goes wherever I am.”

“You and your friends.”

“Me and my friends. Is there anything to drink?”

d'Artagnan waves at the sleepy owner, who comes over with a jug of wine and three cups. Ashley accepts hers rather doubtfully, staring at it for a long moment before trying it. She makes a terrible face, putting the cup down again.

“Not the finest vintage, but passable,” Athos allows. “And your friends, they’ve always travelled as well?”

Ashley leans forward, studying him. “Monsieur Athos, I understand that you don’t know anything about me. But you’re the ones insisting I travel with you. I’m quite happy to stay here if you’d rather. Whatever you’re afraid I’m trying to do, I surely can’t do it if you leave me behind.”

d'Artagnan smirks into his cup, carefully not reacting when Athos looks at him.

“We’ll leave as soon as you’re finished,” Athos says finally, standing and leaving the room.

d'Artagnan sniggers once Athos is gone; Ashley looks across at him, biting her lip again. She really can’t afford to alienate the only people willing to help her, no matter how annoying Athos and his veiled accusations are. “Too much?” she asks.

d'Artagnan shrugs. “It was true.”

“I really am grateful.”

“I know. Are you finished eating?”

She glances down at her plate, taking one last bite of bread before pushing it aside. “I am.”

“You haven’t had much to drink.”

“I’m not very thirsty.”

d'Artagnan shrugs, pushing to his feet. “Let’s go, then.”

“d'Artagnan, is there…” Ashley squirms. “You know, before I get on the horse…”

d'Artagnan frowns, and then flushes. “Oh. Yes. It’s out the back, this way.”

The outhouse is awful, disgusting, and Ashley hurries out as quickly as she can. d'Artagnan glances in when she comes out, looking puzzled; she hurries past him to get away from it.

The others are waiting out at the front of the inn. Aramis looks up as they come out and bounds over, gesturing Ashley to turn around. She obeys and he pulls her hair up again.

“Should I still keep my head down and be quiet?” she asks politely, pulling his hat on over her hair.

“Yes,” Aramis tells her. “But only around other people. Don’t deprive us of your company in the meantime.”

“Leave the girl alone, Aramis,” Porthos calls from where he’s already mounted. Aramis makes a face at him, patting Ashley lightly on the shoulder and turning away.

Ashley automatically heads for d'Artagnan’s horse, but Athos shakes his head. “Ride with me,” he tells her.

“Great, then if she’s actually evil she can kill you far more easily,” d'Artagnan points out. Athos just rolls his eyes, reaching down to help her mount. Ashley settles herself behind him, smiling at d'Artagnan as he turns away.

Despite his mistrust, Athos is solicitous of Ashley as they travel, checking on her every few minutes and calling breaks more frequently than he probably usually would. d'Artagnan gives her his water skin on their second break – she’s grateful, because the mouthful of wine only made her more thirty – and she smiles gratefully, slinging it over her shoulder when they start off again.

By the fourth break she’s quiet and stiff, waving off Aramis’ offer of food to sink down against a tree. d'Artagnan comes to hunker next to her, chewing on some dried meat.

“Don’t ride much?”

“Told you I haven’t,” she answers without looking at him.

“It gets easier after a few days.”

“Days,” she groans.

“Problem?” Athos calls from where he’s standing near the horses.

“She hasn’t ridden recently,” d'Artagnan says over his shoulder.

Ashley waves apologetically. “I’m a little sore. It’s fine.”

Athos nods. “We can’t move any slower, I’m afraid. We have to get back to the garrison.”

“It’s fine,” Ashley assures him. “I’ll adjust.”

d'Artagnan leans a little closer to her. “Lean more against him,” he murmurs. “It’ll take the weight of you a bit, make it a little easier.”

“What’s he going to think about that?” she asks, keeping her voice down to match his.

“Athos is far too polite to ever tell you not to,” d'Artagnan said with a grin. “He won’t mind,” he adds at her look. “Honestly. It won’t make any difference to him.”

“If you’re sure,” she says reluctantly.

“It will help,” he promises her.

“How long until we reach Paris?”

“By the end of tomorrow, with any luck.”

Porthos, walking by, smacks the back of d'Artagnan’s head sharply enough to knock him off balance. d'Artagnan scowls, kicking out at him as he gets back to his feet.

“What was that for?” Ashley asks, eyes wide.

“Tempting fate,” d'Artagnan says, rubbing absently at the back of his head.

“He never learns!” Porthos calls from where he’s settling under another tree.

Ashley smiles, half turning to pull the water skin back up so she can drink. “You have interesting friends, monsieur.”

“d'Artagnan,” he corrects her. “And yes. They are.” He considers for a second before asking “What are yours like?”

She glances up, sealing the water skin again and letting it fall. “You don’t trust me either?”

d'Artagnan shifts to sit cross legged, watching her. “Athos does not distrust you.”

“Yes, he does.”

“He doesn’t trust you; that’s not the same thing.”

“That is word play.” She props her head on a fist, watching him. “I don’t blame him. We’ve had some run ins, my friends and I. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s suspicious.”

“He doesn’t distrust you,” d'Artagnan repeats. “He’s a soldier, it’s his nature to be wary.”

“You aren’t wary.”

“I haven’t been a soldier very long.”

Ashley smiles faintly, looking down, and d'Artagnan glances over his shoulder. She follows his look briefly; Porthos seems to be asleep, so they clearly won’t be moving on for a while. “Rest a while,” he tells her, drawing his feet in to stand. “We won’t be travelling any further for a bit.”

“Wait,” she protests as he starts to stand. He hesitates, looking at her, and she adds quickly, “I mean, unless you have to do something.”

“No,” he says slowly, sitting back down. “No, there’s nothing I have to do right now.”

“Tell me how you came to be a Musketeer,” she suggests, relaxing a little when he’s settled again. She trusts the others, but she’s not quite sure she likes them yet.

“That, mademoiselle, is a long story.”

“My name is Ashley,” she says patiently. “And we have some time, don’t we?”

“Ashley,” he allows. “Yes, we have some time. Well, it starts with me trying to kill Athos, and it ends with me trying to kill Athos…”


	2. Chapter 2

Cassie reaches for her décolletage again. TJ slaps her hand away without looking at it.

“You picked this out on purpose,” she accuses him.

“I picked it out because it’s the best fit for what women are wearing in France in this time.” He glances sideways at her. “At least you’re not falling over your sword every time you turn around.”

“Corset!” she says, sing song.

“You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Never.” She adjusts herself again. “Why does this even have a corset? It’s only a costume.”

“Authenticity, I guess. You’ll have to ask Ash when we find her.”

Carlos appears over the edge of the crater, immediately bending over to cough harshly. TJ picks up one of the canteens, climbing up to join him. Carlos takes the canteen gratefully, splashing his face and taking a sip, spitting it aside and taking a longer drink.

“Anything?” TJ asks when he seems steadier.

Carlos shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and making a face at the dust covering it. “I don’t think she’s down there. It’s really hard to see anything, but there’s no way she stayed if she was mobile at all.”

“She was mobile.” TJ feels a twinge in his ankle as he remembers Ashley running for the lip of crater, trying to draw Astronema’s creature away to give him time to finish the outer repairs, promising to be back in a minute. “When she left, anyway.”

“If she wasn’t later, she hardly made it up the crater anyway,” Carlos says. Touching TJ’s arm lightly, he adds, “We’re going to find her.”

“Save that for Andros,” TJ says, but he pats Carlos’ arm and knows he understands the thanks.

“What’s going on?” Cassie calls from down the slope. She’d refused to even attempt climbing the slope in the corset and skirts of her outfit, and the boys hadn’t tried to persuade her otherwise.

Carlos slides down the side to join her, and TJ follows. “She’s not there.”

“Where’s Andros and Zhane?”

“Zhane’s trying to get Andros to come up before they both choke. That ash really clings.”

“So I see,” Cassie agrees, slapping at his shoulder and waving a hand through the cloud of dust.

Carlos makes a face at her, swiping at his hair again. TJ sighs. “A couple of good rain storms, the ash will clear.”

“And that?” Cassie waves vaguely at the lip of the crater.

“It’ll settle over time. We can’t do anything about it.”

She nods, half turning and pointing down the slope. “There’s footprints down there. They’re kind of mixed up, but I think some of them are Ashley’s.”

“Yeah?” Carlos looks past her.

“They’re pretty distinct in 1630s France.”

“Good eye,” TJ complements her.

“Yeah, how’d you manage to see them when you can’t bend your back?” Carlos asks, eyes wide and teasing. Cassie shoves him, leading him down the slope to examine the footprints.

TJ climbs back up to the top of the crater. He can see Zhane and Andros part of the way down inside, heads close together as they talk.

“Guys!” he calls. Zhane swivels to look up at him, and he gestures for them to come up. “We found something!”

 

They’re less than a day from Paris when they’re attacked.

Athos draws in his horse sharply, shouting for d'Artagnan. Aramis and Porthos plunge into the oncoming bandits, Porthos on foot, Aramis picking them off with his pistol, Porthos’ pistol, and his musket.

d'Artagnan pulls up beside Athos, pistol in hand. “Athos…”

“Not now. Arm out.” Turning his head towards Ashley, he adds, “Jump.” Between them, they get Ashley off his horse and onto d'Artagnan’s. “Ride, and don’t look back.”

“Athos,” d'Artagnan protests.

“Get her to safety,” he orders, spurring his horse into the fight. d'Artagnan swears, shooting the man currently trying to sneak up on Porthos and shoving the pistol into his holster. “Ashley, hold on tight,” he says over his shoulder, and as soon as her arms go around his stomach he kicks his horse into a gallop.

He keeps the speed for perhaps five minutes before dropping to a canter, and another five after that he drops to a trot. Ashley’s twisting behind him, and eventually she says directly into his ear “No one’s following us.”

“Good,” d'Artagnan agrees, but he doesn’t stop, though he does slow the horse to a walk.

“Shouldn’t we wait?” Ashley asks.

He shakes his head. “They’re only bandits. The others can handle them.”

“Are you sure? We could go back.”

He reins his horse in, dropping to the ground before they’ve quite finished moving. Ashley pitches forward before catching herself, looking down at him in surprise; d'Artagnan gestures for her arm and helps her down.

“They don’t need my help, and they’ll fight better knowing you’re safely away.”

Ashley draws her cloak tightly around herself. “Should we wait for them?”

“They’ll catch up to us. We need to walk the horse for a while now anyway, to let him rest.”

She nods. “I’m sorry. I’m making things harder for you.”

“It’s fine. They’ll be fine.”

They walk in silence for a while; after about half an hour d'Artagnan boosts her back up and lets her ride, though he keeps a firm hand on the reins. An hour after that she rebels and gets down again, declaring that she’d rather walk than ride any more. d'Artagnan doesn’t blame her; he’s more than a little sore himself after their run.

He can’t stop checking behind them, and he knows she’s noticed, but she doesn’t say anything until they’ve been walking long enough that he’s about to call a break.

“They should have caught up by now, shouldn’t they.”

“Yes,” he admits. “They shouldn’t have had any difficulty with the bandits. I expected them a while ago, that’s why we haven’t started riding again yet.”

“I’m perfectly happy not to ride,” she says quickly.

d'Artagnan smiles. “Except that it’s taking us longer; we can take a little break now, but we’ll have to ride again after it if we’re to make Paris by nightfall. And if the others haven’t caught up, I don’t want to be out here after dark.”

Ashley glances back the way they’ve come. “We can go back,” she says quietly. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but I’m not helpless. I can help you.”

d'Artagnan shakes his head. “Athos told me to get you to safety. I have to do it. Then I can go back.”

She nods quietly, studying him for a moment before looking up at the saddle. “Well, in that case, give me a boost. Let’s get back to the city as quickly as we can.”

d'Artagnan grins, leaning down to give her a boost and climbing up after her. Ashley’s hands tighten around his waist and he clicks the horse into a trot.

They’ve been riding for a while when he becomes aware that someone’s coming up from behind, and it’s not the others. “Ashley,” he says, turning his head just enough for her attention. “There’s a blade in the back of my belt. Can you get at it?”

“I’ll have to let go of you.”

“We have to slow down anyway. Don’t let the riders behind us see you.”

“I’d be happier with this.” She leans on his pistol, pressing it against his leg.

d'Artagnan shakes his head briefly. “Much harder to hide, and there’s only one shot. Dagger’s better for you.”

“Is something wrong?” He can feel her let go of the front of his jerkin and her hand slides around to his back.

“I’m not certain yet. Put it under your tunic. If I get down, knock your hat loose so they can see you’re a lady.”

“Will that help?”

He turns to look forward again. “If we’re lucky, they won’t search you too hard.”

“And if we’re not lucky?”

“They’ll be very thorough when they search you.”

They’re only walking now, and the horses behind are almost on them. Ashley’s hand leaves his back and snakes around his stomach again, holding on far more tightly than she needs to.

“Ho!” one of the riders calls. “A moment, sir!”

d'Artagnan looks over his shoulder. “I am a King’s Musketeer on his business, I cannot stop.”

“Only for a moment, sir!”

“Not even that.” He clicks to get the horse trotting again.

Two of the riders overtake him, one on each side; one reaches for his reins as the voice drawls “I’m afraid I must insist, monsieur.”

d'Artagnan draws the horse to a halt, glaring at the man still trying to get a hand on his reins. “Back away,” he says firmly, and the man obeys, though he doesn’t go far.

d'Artagnan slides off the horse, reaching to help Ashley down. “Hat,” he murmurs, but she’s already gotten it tangled in their sleeves and it falls to one side, drawing the bun down with it.

Two of the men murmur and d'Artagnan deliberately turns to glare at them before looking at the ringleader. “What is so urgent that you would delay a Musketeer on a mission?”

“Only that we found this.” The man draws a sword from somewhere; d'Artagnan tenses as he continues in a bored tone “It’s far too fine for any man in these parts. I thought perhaps it was yours.”

d'Artagnan lays a hand on his own sword hilt. “Not mine. Show me.”

“Ah, well, if it’s not yours then it must be up for grabs.” The man turns it in his hands, watching the light glint on d'Artagnan’s face. “Tell me, monsieur, what mission is so urgent that you must ignore the hails of your countrymen?”

“Escort,” d'Artagnan says shortly, leaning into Ashley to force her closer to the horse. Ashley’s keeping her head down, holding onto him as though afraid, but she’s tensed for action, he can feel it where they’re touching.

“And a very pretty package it is you’re escorting. Destined for the King’s bed, is she?”

d'Artagnan’s sword is in his hand an instant later. “Come down here and use that,” he says sharply.

The man eyes him for a moment before climbing leisurely down from his horse. “Well, I could,” he agrees, turning the blade again. “I used to be a fair hand, and I don’t suppose I’ve forgotten much. But then again…”

Ashley shouts a warning, too late, and two hands close on each of d'Artagnan’s arms. He kicks backwards immediately, but he doesn’t hit anything, and the way they’re holding him he can’t get any leverage. They force him to his knees, and a hand twines in his hair and jerks his head back.

The leader smiles complacently. “Why fight you myself when I have all these helpful men?” he finishes. “Now let’s see what a Musketeer carries.”

“I have nothing you’ll want,” d'Artagnan says as evenly as he can.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He steps past d’Artagnan, flipping up the cover on his saddlebag; Ashley shies away, and he ignores her except to leer absently-mindedly.

He rummages for a moment before turning back to d'Artagnan. “It seems you really don’t carry much.”

“Told you,” d'Artagnan says.

“We’ll have to make it up some other way, then.” He nods, and one of the bandits reaches for d'Artagnan’s sword.

d'Artagnan jerks, throwing his weight against them, trying to block them. The leader waves in more men to hold him down, and in the confusion no one sees Ashley move until her voice rings out, calling for them to stop.

d'Artagnan can’t see them – they’re too far behind him – but the leader laughs. “Spirited, aren’t you!”

“Let go of him,” Ashley says steadily. No one moves, and she repeats herself.

“Now, little girl, you don’t think we believe you’ll really do it?” the leader says. An instant later he hisses in a breath and curses soundly.

“Oops,” Ashley said, completely unapologetic. “Let him go, now.”

One of the men let go. It’s enough; d'Artagnan twists free of the other and pushes to his feet, stepping out of their reach before turning.

Ashley has somehow got the leader on his knees; d’Artagnan’s dagger is gripped tightly in her hand, pressed against his throat, and a trickle of blood is running down his neck. d'Artagnan raises an eyebrow, impressed.

“Gentlemen, and I use the term lightly, please step together to that side of the road,” he says brightly. When no one moves, Ashley’s grip tightens and the leader curses her again.

“Language,” she says mildly.

d'Artagnan pulls his sword, laying the tip lightly alongside the dagger. “Ashley, step away.” She obeys, going to mount without waiting for him. “Now, sir, put down the sword. Did you ‘find’ anything else?”

“No,” he mutters, letting the sword fall towards d'Artagnan. He catches it neatly with one foot, flipping it up to catch it by the hilt.

“Are you sure?”

The man shrugs. “That was it.”

Ashley is up, settled firmly behind the saddle. d'Artagnan considers the man on his knees for a moment.

“I could kill you,” he says finally, “but I think I’d prefer to leave you here. After all, a young girl defeated you. How much trouble can you be?” The man starts to answer; d'Artagnan reverses his grip on the second sword and brings the hilt down firmly against his temple. “But then, I don’t want you chasing us either,” he finishes. Looking over at the rest of the bandits, he warns them, “That’s all the mercy I have today. If I see you again, you die. Understand?”

Frantic nods all around, and he grins. “Find another line of work, gentlemen,” he advises them, swinging into the saddle. “There’ll be a group of Musketeers along here to clear this area very soon.”

He nudges the horse into a gallop before they can respond; Ashley squeaks, throwing her arms around him. “Are you hurt?” he shouts over his shoulder.

“I lost the hat!”

“Forget the hat! Are you _hurt_?”

“No, I’m fine!”

They ride on in silence for several minutes before he slows the horse again, staying at a steady trot. “It won’t be long now,” he tells her. “We’re almost to Paris.”

“Oh good,” she says, leaning heavily against him.

“Ashley, are you hurt?” he asks again.

“No. Just a little – I’ve never done something like that before.”

“Thank you,” d'Artagnan tells her, and they ride in silence until Paris comes into view.

 

Athos watches Aramis as they ride. The blow to his shoulder is serious, enough to keep him from holding his reins, but apart from that he seems unhurt.

“I liked that sword.”

Definitely unhurt. Athos holds in a sigh. “I will replace your sword.”

“Don’t be stupid, I’ll get one from the armoury. But I liked that one.”

“It was your sword or your life. Next time I’ll make the other choice.”

“Musketeers running from bandits,” Porthos mutters from Aramis’ other side.

Athos sighs loudly and pointedly. “It was run or die. Shall I note that we should make the other choice next time?”

“Bandits!” Porthos repeats.

“Bandits who outnumbered us, out weaponed us, and there was no need for us to stay. We were fighting for nothing but our lives and the easiest way to keep them was to retreat.” Porthos snorts and he sighs once more. “We shall return with more men and flush them out.”

Porthos leans over to catch Aramis’ reins and keep him on track. “Maybe find your sword, Aramis.”

“It’ll be melted down by then,” Aramis said mournfully.

Athos grits his teeth and keeps going.

They stop only briefly, and only when Aramis can’t keep going. The blow didn’t break anything, but he’s bruised and sore and riding is only aggravating it. Athos checks it for him, rubs in a salve that’s supposed to help and makes sure it’s as cushioned as it can be.

They rest for a while before moving on again, this time with Porthos in the lead and Athos watching Aramis. They’re all tired and sore by this point, but they’re going to keep going now. They’re already too far behind d'Artagnan; if they’re much longer he’ll turn the garrison out to look for them.

On the outskirts of Paris they find Ashley, sitting on d'Artagnan’s horse. She glances up as they surround her. “There you are.” She looks at Aramis, frowning. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Aramis says in some surprise; he’s not holding the reins on that side, but there’s no other outward sign of his injury and he’s surprised she picked up on it. “Where’s d'Artagnan?”

“Talking to someone.” She gestures along the street. When he cranes, Athos can just see d'Artagnan talking to a young boy. “He was worried, you took a long time to catch up.”

“We were forced to take a rather round about route,” Athos explains. “Did you have any trouble?”

“A little. We’re not hurt, though.”

d'Artagnan glances back towards her, notices them, and grins widely. Tossing the boy a coin, he comes back towards them. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Porthos shrugs, leaning on his saddle horn. “Bandits and bad roads. You?”

He grins. “Bad roads and bandits.” Athos is studying him, and d'Artagnan sobers somewhat. “We were attacked. Without Ashley’s help I’d be dead by now.”

“Then we are indebted,” Aramis says smoothly.

“I lost your hat,” Ashley tells him.

Aramis twitches. “When I say indebted…”

“Don’t worry, we balanced it out.” d'Artagnan reaches behind his saddle, producing Aramis’ sword.

“How did you come across that?” Aramis asks, holding it up to inspect it before sheathing it.

“The bandits came after us when they lost you. Their leader was carrying this.” d'Artagnan glances at Ashley before looking back at Athos. “I’m taking Ashley to Constance’s.”

Porthos straightens slowly. “That smart?”

“M Boncieux isn’t there,” d'Artagnan says dryly. “The room is safe and Constance can find her something better to wear. We can figure out what to do from there.”

“I don’t believe that’s what Porthos was referring to,” Athos notes.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll come to the garrison afterwards, give you my report then.”

“I’ll go with you,” Athos offers.

“It’s fine,” d'Artagnan says firmly. “I’ll see you at the garrison. Go take care of Aramis’ shoulder.” He gestures Ashley to slide down from the horse, looking at Porthos. “Can you please take my horse back?”

“You owe me,” Porthos tells him, taking the reins.

d'Artagnan smiles, turning and leading Ashley away. Porthos whistles softly, watching them go. “That’s going to be trouble.”

Athos glances over at them. “Aramis…”

“Porthos can help me. Go ahead. Make sure they’re all right.”

Athos nods, turns his horse and heads slowly after them.

 

“Why are they worried?” Ashley asks quietly.

d'Artagnan glances at her. “Constance and I – it’s complicated. And not something I much want to dwell on.”

“Oh…” Ashley bites her lip. “I’m sorry,” she offers.

“Don’t be. It won’t matter.”

d'Artagnan taps on the Bonacieux door, backing up a little into the yard, and a couple of moments later Constance appears. She notices Ashley before she’s made it more than a couple of steps, and d'Artagnan’s glad. He doesn’t really want to have another scene. “d'Artagnan,” she says, voice unsteady.

“Madame Bonacieux,” he answers, mostly for Ashley’s sake. “Ashley.”

Ashley dips a curtsy, murmurs something that might be ‘nice to meet you’. Constance answers distractedly.

“Aramis and I found Ashley some two days out of Paris,” d'Artagnan continues. “As you can see, she’s been attacked and separated from her group. She needs somewhere to stay while we find a way to help her, and I thought you might oblige, since she can’t stay at the garrison. I’ll pay for her room, and for some clothes, if you’d be so kind.”

“d'Artagnan,” Constance protests.

He takes a breath, glancing at Ashley. “A moment.”

“Of course,” Ashley says immediately, retreating as far as the road and staring determinedly down it.

“She’s a little young for you, isn’t she?” Constance murmurs.

d'Artagnan raises an eyebrow. “Don’t be unfair,” he replies just as quietly. 

“She’s wearing your tunic.”

“She’s in trouble. I brought her here because I thought you’d be kind. I can find someone else.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Constance sighs. “A lodger is a lodger as far as my – a lodger is a lodger. Just don’t run late with her rent like you did with yours.”

“I have an income now,” d'Artagnan says dryly.

Constance studies him for a long moment. “How are you?”

d'Artagnan smiles faintly, and she ducks her head, acknowledging the ridiculous question. “I’ve been well,” he tells her.

“I’m glad.” 

“And you? Are you happy?” He flinches immediately, looking down. “Forgive me, that was cruel.”

“Forgiven,” she murmurs. She looks past him, to where Ashley is still pretending fascination with the well down the street. “Call her. She needs clothes?”

“Yes. Please.” He turns to catch Ashley’s eye, and she comes back towards them warily.

Constance takes her in from head to toe, forcing a smile. “Come along, my dear. Let’s get you settled.”

Ashley looks at d'Artagnan, frowning. “Are you coming?”

“I have to get back to the garrison.”

“I could go with you,” she says quickly.

He shakes his head. “The garrison’s no place for you. You’ll be fine.” He catches Constance’s eyes. “Constance is kind. She’ll take care of you.”

“You’ll come see me?”

“Of course,” he says briskly.

She takes a step away from Constance, lowering her voice to murmur “Don’t go yet.”

d'Artagnan studies her, glancing at Constance. “I can’t come in while you’re being fitted,” he says quietly. “It’s not proper.”

Ashley swallows, taking a step back. “No, of course you can’t,” she agrees, forcing a smile.

“But I’ll wait and say goodbye before I go. Go with Constance now and I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Constance waves Ashley towards the door, raising an eyebrow at d'Artagnan. “Jumpy little thing.”

“We were attacked on the way back and she saved my life. I’m not surprised she’s a little jumpy. Be kind to her.”

Constance nods, heading inside, and d'Artagnan settles in to wait.

 

D’Artagnan is right. Constance is kind. Kind enough not to question Ashley’s clothes, which she knows are wildly anachronistic. Kind enough not to try and take her morpher when she sees how Ashley reacts to the suggestion.

She’s also a little suspicious, though. Ashley has an idea what’s happened here, between Constance and d'Artagnan, and she knows she hasn’t helped herself in Constance’s eyes by clinging to d’Artagnan. She can’t help herself. If she can’t find the others, she’ll be trapped here – unless she can find Zordon, and as far as she knows he’s sleeping in what’s probably not California yet – and she’ll need d'Artagnan’s help.

Constance has drawn her a bath. Ashley knows enough to know that this is an imposition, so she thanks her sincerely and promises not to take too long. That, at least, is easy to do. Even with several buckets of hot water, the bath’s barely tepid. She washes quickly and dries as best she can with the thin towel.

She fingers her morpher for a moment before fastening it on her wrist. It’s not working – at least, the communicator isn’t; she hasn’t tried morphing – but she doesn’t want to get too far from it. Pulling the towel tightly around herself, she goes to the door.

Constance comes in with an armload of cloth, dropping it onto the bed. “You look better.”

“I feel better,” Ashley agrees. “Thank you, really.”

Constance shrugs. “The boys will fight to the death to protect you, but it probably won’t occur to them that you might like to clean up once in a while.” She gestures to the pile of cloth. “That won’t fit you perfectly, but it’s better than nothing until I can alter something for you.”

Ashley stares at the pile of cloth. “I can’t take your dress.”

“You can’t go around in d'Artagnan’s spare tunic, either. And I don’t know where you’ve come from, but try and wear your own clothes here in Paris, you won’t like what’ll happen to you.”

Ashley gives in, reaching for the cloth and trying to figure it out. “Thank you. Again.”

Constance takes it from her, flicking it out with a shake of her wrist and gesturing her to turn around. Ashley moves as she’s directed and otherwise stands still as Constance dresses her. The corset surprises her and she gasps in a breath, trying to adjust.

“Come on, anyone would think it’s your first time,” Constance says disapprovingly, pulling the laces again.

“Not my first time,” Ashley agrees, and it’s true, but she hasn’t worn one often and not in a long time. She hasn’t had much time for costumes and dressing up lately.

Constance knots the laces and pulls the dress over it, adjusting it, pinning it in a couple of places. “It won’t need much,” she muses. “Are you sure you want to keep that decoration on? It ruins the lines.”

“Sorry. It doesn’t leave me,” Ashley tells her.

Constance fusses for another minute. “d'Artagnan says you saved his life.”

“I think he’s exaggerating a little. We were stopped by bandits, and I distracted them long enough for him to get to his weapons. That’s all. It wasn’t much.”

Constance nods slowly, taking a step back. “Our maid had to leave recently, family business. I’ve been looking for a girl to help me. It’ll get you your food and board and a couple of coins at the end of the month. And god knows what you’d end up with if we let the boys try and find you something. It’s not very glamourous work, though.”

Ashley blinks. “I don’t feel very glamourous…thank you. I really appreciate it. But –“

“But?” Constance prompts when she trails off.

“You don’t like me.”

Constance considers. “The last lady friend d'Artagnan had tried to kill him, the Queen, Athos and the others, and me. More or less in that order. You’ll understand I’m a little wary.”

“I understand,” Ashley agrees numbly. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I owe him.”

“Well.” Constance smiles, but it doesn’t touch her eyes. “We’ll find out, I think.”

“Why offer me a job, then?”

“Because you saved his life. I’ll tell him you’re ready to see him.”

“Thank you,” Ashley murmurs, but she’s already gone.

d'Artagnan appears a couple of minutes later, glancing around absently. “This was my room for a while,” he tells her.

“Was it?” Ashley looks around again. “I didn’t know you’d lived here.”

“Yes, before I was commissioned. I live at the garrison now.” He gestures vaguely towards her dress. “It suits you.”

“It’s Constance’s.” Ashley looks down at it, realising for the first time that there’s no trace of yellow in it. She’ll have to do something about that; she can’t be away from her colour for too long. “She offered me a job as the maid here.”

“Did she,” d'Artagnan said warily.

“I accepted,” she tells him, and he looks relieved.

“That was kind of her.” He looks towards the door. “You’d better not mention me to her husband, though; he doesn’t think too highly of me. I wouldn’t want him to take it out on you.”

“I’ll be careful,” Ashley promises. “d'Artagnan, you’re sure that if anyone hears about my friends…”

“I made sure,” he assures her. “We’ll hear about it.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

He smiles. “Have Constance show you how to find the garrison. You’ll find me there if you need to.”

“Thank you,” she repeats. d'Artagnan bows, turning away and heading downstairs.

Ashley looks around the room, takes as deep a breath as she can manage, and sinks down to sit on the bed.

 

“DECA can’t find her morpher without the communicator working,” Zhane says patiently.

Andros throws something against the nearest wall. Zhane ignores it, still elbow deep in wires. The most critical repairs are done, but the Megaship is nowhere near fixed; she’s only space worthy by the most generous definition.

“We know she was in the forest,” Andros says hopefully.

“We were all in the forest, that’s where we crashed,” Zhane murmurs, focusing on the connection he’s trying to solder. His telekinesis isn’t really strong enough to hold the wires in place, but he doesn’t have enough hands otherwise and he’s not going to ask Andros to help.

Something else hits the wall, skittering along the floor. Zhane flips off the solder iron and looks over to make sure it’s nothing important.

“It’s a good sign, we haven’t found her yet,” he says patiently.

“No it’s not!”

“She couldn’t possibly have stayed at the crater, and we’ve searched all around. We can’t find her because she’s mobile; she’s moving. That’s a good sign.”

Andros presses his back to the console, sliding down it to sit on the floor. “Zhane…”

“We’re going to find her,” he says firmly. “Hold this.” He shoves the iron at him, plunging back into the wiring.

Andros watches him for a moment. “Zhane,” he says finally.

“Shut up, we’re going to find her.”

“I was just going to say you’re mixing your wires up there.”

Zhane squints, following Andros’ pointing finger. Cursing in Kerovan, he fixes the error and sits back with a sigh. “DECA, diagnostics please.”

They haven’t fixed her voice yet – it isn’t a priority – and he has to lever himself up to read the results on the display console. “Oh, good,” he murmurs, sitting back down and tapping his morpher. “TJ, we’re done down here.”

“Great,” TJ says. “Better vacate, we’re going to test the circuits and if they’re going to blow anywhere it’ll be there.”

“Got it,” Zhane agrees, nudging Andros as he gets to his feet. “Come on.”

“Carlos and Cassie are back,” TJ adds suddenly.

Andros climbs to his feet, following Zhane up towards the bridge. Carlos is examining a map on a screen and Cassie is talking to TJ, describing something with her hands.

“What happened?” Zhane asks, boosting himself up to sit on the nav console. Andros makes a face at him, but the controls are deactivated so he can’t actually do any harm.

“We saw a big fight,” Carlos tells them. “Bandits against some kind of soldiers.”

“Blue cloaks,” Cassie adds. “Very good.”

“Musketeers,” TJ says. Andros frowns, and TJ adds, “A particular group of soldiers, specifically dedicated to protecting the royal family of France. Best in the country.”

“They spend a lot of time fighting bandits?” Zhane asks, distracted by watching Carlos at the map.

“If the bandits are working in areas the royal family might pass through, yeah.”

“Who won?”

Cassie grins. “The Musketeers did. It was a rout, really. We just stayed hidden and watched.”

“Well, maybe if Astronema’s monster turns back up, we should arrange to fight it somewhere near the king.”

He’s tired, or he wouldn’t have said it. Andros goes very rigid, staring straight ahead. Cassie shoots a glance at him before answering easily “They could probably take him out, you know.”

“They’d think he was some kind of demon,” Carlos says. “They’d probably all pray at him.”

“Soldiers?” Cassie says disbelievingly.

“It’s 1630, they have to pretend, right? Here, come check this.”

She crosses to study the screen, nodding. “That looks right.”

Carlos saves the map and turns to TJ. “That’s the area we covered.”

“We need to start talking to people,” Zhane muses.

He can see the three Earthers exchanging looks. So far they’ve all insisted that they not interact with anyone or change anything, for fear of changing the past and affecting their future. Zhane somehow managed not to laugh when TJ explained this, very seriously. Clearly, temporal mechanics is in its’ infancy on Earth. He’s tried to explain that the past can’t be changed, but they seem to have trouble grasping it and he’s given up trying.

“Really,” he says. “If Ashley met anyone, they’ll remember her. We need to start talking to people. Start near the crater and work out from there.”

“What if she didn’t meet anyone?” Cassie asks.

“Then she’s in trouble,” he says flatly. Ashley’s smart and capable, but on her own in a forest in a country and time she knows little about, he doesn’t give much for her chances. The Power can do a lot of things, but probably not keep her alive that long.

“Zhane!” TJ hisses, but Andros is nodding.

“Zhane’s right. We need to start talking to people.”

“Andros, we talked about that,” Cassie reminds him.

“Your ideas about time travel are wrong,” Andros says flatly. “Nothing we do here will affect anything in the future.”

“You don’t know that,” TJ says, but they’ve had the argument too many times and he wants Ashley back too badly to be very firm about it. “Zhane, you and Cassie go and start talking to people, then. See what you can find out.” Catching Zhane’s eyes, he adds “ _Subtly_.”

“I can be subtle,” Zhane tells him, ignoring the snort from Carlos and the look Cassie is giving him.

“Go get your outfit on.”

Zhane makes a face. “I hate that sword.” To Cassie, he adds, “Do not say ‘corset’ again.”

She smiles sweetly at him. “Go get your sword, Zhane.”

He complains about it, but he goes, pulling on the horrible clothes and ungainly sword. The balance is weird on it compared to his Silveriser, and he whips it idly from side to side as he goes back up to join Cassie.

TJ teleports them down near to the closest village to the crater, far enough away that no one will see them appear out of nowhere. Zhane practises a little more with the sword and then puts it away with a sigh.

“Tell me what you were going to tell me.”

Cassie blinks. “What was I going to tell you?”

“What people would think of you if you weren’t in that stupid corset.”

“Oh.” She coughs lightly. “I did say I’d tell you, didn’t I.”

“Yep.” He eyes her sideways as they walk. “How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad. Do you know the word _prostitute_?”

He shakes his head. Whatever the word is, it doesn’t translate. “No. What is it?”

“It’s someone who lets other people pay them to have sex.”

“Oh.” Zhane considers it. “Is that what you call it. And people would think you were – why? You’re showing more skin in that dress than in your uniform.”

“It’s not the skin, exactly, it’s the style. Too tight. It’s wrong for this time, and they aren’t very tolerant of things that don’t fit.”

“I don’t think Ashley would be very happy if someone thought she was…” He considers attempting the word, but the sounds are all wrong for him. “Like that,” he finishes instead.

“No. I don’t think she would,” Cassie agrees, drawing him to one side of the road as a horse appears further along.

The rider slows as he approaches them, smiling good naturedly. “Morning!”

“Good morning, sir,” Cassie says politely. Zhane nods briskly.

“What brings you to these parts?”

“We’re looking for a friend of ours,” Zhane explains. “A young lady, brown hair, brown eyes. She may have passed by here a few days ago.”

The man shakes his head. “I’ve seen no one by that description. There’s a village on further down, you could ask at the inn. Maybe she stopped there, or someone saw her.”

“Thank you. We’ll try that.”

“Good luck to you,” he says, moving on past them.

Zhane shrugs at Cassie’s look. “We couldn’t really expect to be lucky the first time off.”

“I can expect anything I want,” Cassie mutters, but she smiles at him. “Come on. Let’s try this village.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ashley tips out the ash bucket and straightens, stretching her back briefly.

Constance is probably a good employer. At least, she’s patient with Ashley, showing her how to do the work and not drawing attention to the holes in Ashley’s knowledge. It’s so different than what Ashley is used to, though.

She had hoped to spend some time looking for the others, but she’s so tired she spends most of her free time sleeping. She hasn’t seen d’Artagnan or any of the others since she got here; she just has to trust that he’ll keep his word if he hears anything about her friends.

She’s thought more than once about slipping away to go and search, but she can’t afford to alienate d’Artagnan and Constance both, and she can’t think of a better way to do it than by walking out of this job.

Monsieur Bonacieux appears in the doorway, frowning when he sees her standing there. “No work to be doing?” he calls.

“Sorry, monsieur,” Ashley says quickly, picking up the bucket and heading past him back inside.

Constance is kind, but her husband is an ass. She has no idea why Constance would choose him over d'Artagnan.

She hasn’t quite got the hang of cooking yet, but she can help to prepare the food and set the table and wash up as Constance works. Constance narrates what she’s doing all the time. Ashley recognises it as an effort to help her, and she’s grateful.

She’s not supposed to eat with them – the Monsieur doesn’t like it – but she can usually hear what they’re talking about. She doesn’t often listen, the noises are enough to keep her company, but today she’s paying very close attention.

“…attacking people at random,” Monsieur is saying.

“That’s terrible,” Constance says vaguely. “And no one knows who it is?”

“The survivors are saying people in armour. Full armour, with rounded helmets and strange curved blades.”

“They must be confused. No one wears full armour any more.”

Ashley stops listening as they move on to discussing a new shipment of cloth due in soon. She’ll have to find d'Artagnan and see what he knows about this. Team or not, she’s still a Ranger, and if these attacks really are Quantrons she needs to do whatever she can to stop them.

She clears the table and tidies up when they’ve finished eating before drawing Constance aside. “I need to see d'Artagnan,” she murmurs.

“He’s not in Paris, off on a mission. He’s not expected back until this afternoon, maybe tomorrow.” Constance studies her. “What’s wrong?”

“What about the others?”

“Athos is here. He’ll be at the garrison. The others are with d'Artagnan. What’s wrong, Ashley?”

Ashley bites her lip. “Those attacks your husband was talking about. I might have information.”

“Might have,” Constance repeats neutrally.

“I’m not sure; his description wasn’t clear. I thought the Musketeers might know.”

“I’m sure they will.” Constance considers for another moment before nodding. “Go get your shawl. I’ll tell my husband we need to go out for a while. Don’t tell him where if he asks, tell him we need to buy something.”

Ashley nods, heading to her room to find her shawl. Constance has helped her stitch yellow thread through the hem, barely noticeable but enough to make it work; once she knew how to do it she was able to repeat it on her dresses. It’s close enough to her colour to keep her going.

She wraps the shawl around her shoulders, picks up a basket just in case, and goes back to find Constance at the door with her husband. “We won’t be long,” Constance is telling him. Ashley makes sure not to look directly at him, just follows when Constance moves.

“What is it you think you know about these attacks?” Constance asks as they make their way through the streets.

Ashley glances distractedly at her. “I’ve fought them before. Maybe I can help.”

Constance doesn’t ask any more, and Ashley’s grateful to her. It’s going to be difficult enough explaining to Athos. d'Artagnan she might have been able to fool, get away without telling him too much; Athos will see everything.

The Musketeer at the gate waves them through before Constance can speak, and she leads Ashley to a table near the stairs. Another Musketeer passing by offers to find Athos for them, and she thanks him absently.

“They know you here?” Ashley settles at the table, pulling her shawl tightly around herself.

“My husband used to supply some of their cloth. And I’ve known Athos for a while.”

Ashley nods absently, noting that yet again Constance has said ‘my husband’. She never seems to use his name.

Athos comes down the stairs and eyes them for a moment before sitting across from Ashley. “Madame Bonacieux. Mademoiselle Ashley. How can I help you today?”

Ashley takes a deep breath. “Monsieur Bonacieux spoke of attacks happening recently, by figures in armour.”

“Did he,” Athos said neutrally.

“With curved blades.”

Athos only raises an eyebrow.

“Is he right?” Ashley pushes. She can’t reveal anything until she knows how much they know.

Athos looks at Constance, who shrugs vaguely. “My husband heard it from someone who heard it from someone.”

“Did he,” Athos murmurs. More loudly, he adds “It’s true there have been attacks.”

“Big, black eyes?” Ashley asks, and suddenly his attention is all on her. “Curved, two ended blades, and lines of armour here.” She draws two lines from her shoulders to her chest.

“That sounds familiar,” Athos agrees. “You’ve met them before?”

“They…” Ashley has to think for a moment. “They attacked our home,” she says finally. “My friends and I, we fought back.”

“This would be the home you told me you didn’t have.”

She makes a face. “Does that matter now?”

“It proves that you lied.”

“I have a home. It’s a long way from here, and I have no way to get back to it without my friends. It’s easier to say I don’t have one, for now. Easier to think of it that way.”

Athos studies her for a moment before nodding. “That, I believe.”

Ashley smiles in relief. “We’ve been fighting the – the attackers for a while now. They’re strong, but they aren’t clever. And they won’t be used to your style of fighting.”

“I see,” Athos says thoughtfully. “What about weak spots?”

Ashley considers, trying to think where she’d be aiming her blaster if she was fighting them. “On the sides, the lower ribs. It’s a small target, though. Brute force is easier.”

“Small target or not, it will help. Thank you.”

He stands as if to leave, and Ashley blurts “If you’re going to fight them, can I come?”

“Come,” he repeats, and she thinks maybe he’s surprised.

“I’ve been fighting them for a while. I can help. And if my friends hear about them, they’ll probably try to find them. It might be my best chance to meet back up with them.”

Athos shakes his head. “This will be a Musketeer campaign; I can’t bring along a civilian, and certainly not a young girl.”

“I’ll follow you,” she threatens.

“On the horse you’ve kept hidden all this time?” he says dryly.

“Athos,” Constance interposes. “Maybe Treville would authorise a small scout force, to see what’s happening. Maybe four of you. And if Ashley were out on the road waiting when you passed by, who would know?”

“You approve of this?” he says in surprise.

Constance glances at Ashley. “I believe she’ll try and follow you otherwise. If she’s with you, she’ll be safer.”

“Thank you,” Ashley says fervently.

“Don’t thank me yet, he hasn’t agreed.”

“He’s going to,” she says confidently.

Athos sighs, tugging at his hat. “I will talk to Treville,” he says finally. “I make no promises about his decision. Wait here for me.”

He goes upstairs without waiting for them to answer. Ashley blows out a slow breath, pulling her shawl up again. “Constance, thank you.”

“I’m just trying to keep you from getting killed.” She sighs, looking around. “I can’t guarantee that my husband will hold your job.”

“This is more important.”

“Is it?” Constance leans forward, watching her. “I haven’t asked you anything, Ashley. Not about who you are, or where you’ve come from. It’s somewhere very different from here, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Ashley says softly, blinking rapidly to keep back the sudden tears.

“Is this worth it? This fight?”

She nods, taking a deep breath. “It’s worth more than anything else.”

Constance nods once. “Then let’s make sure you get to go.”

 

Andros steps onto the bridge, watching as the others hurry around. “What’s happening?”

“Quantron activity,” Cassie tells him. She’s still in her dress from the latest round of looking for Ashley; TJ’s in his suit at the moment.

“Where?”

Zhane throws the map up on screen and Andros steps around the consoles, studying it. “Far side of Paris.”

“Maybe hoping not to attract our attention,” Carlos suggests.

“We have to get down there,” TJ says. “Can we morph?”

“What?” Andros blinks, refocusing on him.

“Can we morph,” he repeats. “This far back in time?”

“The morpher finds a channel to the Power wherever it is. Time isn’t a factor.”

“Might be,” Zhane points out. “DECA, what’s the date on the Kerovan calendar?”

DECA provides it and Andros grimaces. “Just what we need.”

“What is it?” Carlos asks.

“There’s a Kerovan team active right now, fighting an important war for our world. They’re using these morphers.” He holds up his wrist for emphasis. “If we morph, we might damage their connection.”

“You keep telling us that we can’t change the past,” TJ points out. “That anything we do was already done.”

“Yes. And the history I learned mentions nothing about a power drain. And it would have, we would have been told.”

“So we _can_ morph, but we shouldn’t,” Carlos says.

“Yes,” Andros says with a sigh.

“Quantrons, we don’t need to,” Zhane points out.

“As long as it’s just Quantrons,” Andros agrees. “TJ, you have somewhere to set us down?”

“Yeah, it’s ready.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

“Clothes,” Carlos points out.

Andros looks over at TJ. “Are they attacking right now?”

TJ glances over the scanner results. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Are we going to be able to find them, then?” Cassie asks.

“The Dark Fortress isn’t here,” Zhane says. “They have to be hiding somewhere.”

“Clothes,” Carlos says again.

“We’re going,” Zhane promises, grabbing Andros’ arm and hauling him out.

Andros doesn’t have a problem with the outfit – he and Zhane are both used to wearing clothes they think are strange for various ceremonies on various planets – but he hates the hat, and it’s always a struggle to get him to wear it. TJ insists, though, and Cassie and Carlos back him up. Zhane agrees with them; Andros’ hair draws enough attention in Angel Grove, and he’s fairly sure that this far back no one dyes their hair, their standard excuse for Andros. His own blond draws far less attention, here or there.

He crams the hat on Andros’ head and wrestles his weapon belt on. Andros never seems to have any trouble with the blade. Zhane is still cursing his as they return to the bridge, where Carlos is adjusting his cloak. “If we see anyone,” he tells them, “I’m supposed to stay very quiet. Spain and France are mostly fighting right now, so it’s safer if no one hears me.”

“Oh no! No talking? How will you manage?” Zhane asks, as sincerely as he can manage.

Carlos makes what’s probably a rude gesture in Earth culture, glancing up as the others come in. “Are we ready?”

“We’re ready,” TJ agrees. “Let’s go.”

 

Athos and the others leave early in the morning. Ashley is waiting outside the city; d'Artagnan barely stops to haul her up, smiling as she gasps in surprise. “Morning!”

“Morning,” she grumbles, adjusting her seat and wrapping her arms around him.

“Have you really fought these men?”

“So surprised,” she teases, leaning forward to add directly into his ear “I know you taught Constance.”

“Constance, yes. I didn’t know you could fight.”

She almost reminds him about the bandits, but stops herself. “Well, I can,” she says instead.

“Good. I won’t have to worry about you, then.”

They ride for a couple of hours before Athos calls a break to eat and rest the horses. While they’re eating, he asks Ashley to tell them everything she knows again. Ashley does, editing where necessary, doing her best to get the important parts across.

d'Artagnan follows her back towards the horses when they’re done. “You think your friends will be there?”

“I hope so,” she murmurs. “If they’ve heard about it, they’ll be there.”

“Will they have heard about it?”

“It’s the kind of thing they listen out for.”

He boosts her up, mounting in front of her. “I hope they are there.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

They ride for several hours this time before Athos reins in. “We’re within a couple of miles of the village where the reports started,” he tells them. “There have been no reports in the last few days, they seem to have moved south, but this is a good place to start. Be careful, and keep your eyes open.”

Ashley trails d'Artagnan as they wander through the village. He talks to some of the people, but she pays little attention, examining the ruins and wreckage left behind. There’s no blaster marks, she’s pleased to see – that would have been almost impossible to explain – but the sword marks, the ones she finds, look like Q-Blades.

Athos looks at her when they meet back up. “Why do they do this?”

“Because they’re ordered to,” she says quietly. “Because their mistress wants the world to burn.” It’s not quite true, but close enough.

“That is all?”

“That is all,” she agrees. “They’re looking for destruction. People, animals, buildings, forests; it’s all the same. They’ll attack anything in their path.”

“Do you know her?” d'Artagnan asks, sharing a look she can’t read with Aramis. “The mistress?”

“We’ve met,” she murmurs. “I don’t think she’s here. She stands out; someone would have seen her, would have mentioned her.”

“But you’ll know her if you see her?”

Ashley smiles faintly. “You’ll know her, too. She really stands out.” Athos makes an impatient noise, and she nods. “I’ll know her if I see her, and I’ll let you know straight away.”

“Good,” Athos says briskly. “Let’s move on; there’s nothing to find out here.”

The next village has nothing either, nor the one after that, the most recently attacked. Ashley doesn’t even go into this one, lingering on the outskirts and studying the treeline some distance away.

“What are you thinking?” Porthos asks as he joins her.

“They don’t have a base,” she says thoughtfully. “They’re on the move. They must be hiding somewhere.”

“Yeah, so?” Porthos follows her gaze, frowning. “You think we can track them?”

“They aren’t smart. They’re probably not hiding their trail.”

“Didn’t see anything between that last village and this one.”

She turns to look at him. “We’re taking the roads. They won’t be.”

“Sure about that?”

Ashley considers for a moment. “Mostly,” she says eventually.

“I’ll take a mostly.” He whistles for the others, explaining their reasoning.

Athos eyes the forest, shaking his head. “It’s too close to dark. We can’t go in there now.” Looking at Ashley, he continues, “The village inn has only one room. You will take it, of course. We have been offered a barn, currently empty of animals and full of straw.”

“You can’t sleep in a barn,” Ashley protests.

“Slept in worse places,” Porthos tells her.

She turns to d'Artagnan. “What would you do if I wasn’t here?”

“Share the room,” he says without thinking.

“I can’t put you all out of the room.”

“We can’t very well share it with you,” Aramis points out. “An unmarried woman sharing a room with four men?”

Ashley scowls, and then her expression clears. “But I’m afraid to be alone,” she tells them. “In a strange village, when you won’t even be in the same building? There have been attacks here. What happens if they come back?”

d'Artagnan is laughing softly; he ducks his head when Athos glares at him, offering, “It would be terribly unchivalrous of us to leave her alone, Athos.”

“The room has one bed,” Athos reminds him.

“And plenty of floor,” Porthos informs the nearest tree, determinedly avoiding Athos’ glare.

“Please?” Ashley smiles innocently at him.

Athos rolls his eyes. “Better try that on the innkeeper.”

“Or maybe his wife,” Aramis suggests. “She looks the motherly sort. We’ll tell her you swooned in fear.”

“Aramis, don’t encourage her,” Athos protests. Everyone looks at him, and he throws his hands up. “I suppose we can’t leave you alone if you’re truly afraid.”

“I am afraid,” Ashley says honestly, and silently prays he won’t ask her what she’s afraid of.

d'Artagnan grins when Athos turns away, smiling at her. “Teach me how to do that.”

“What, act like a girl?” She grins. “I don’t think you could learn it.”

 

The attack comes in the middle of the night.

Ashley’s jolted awake by Aramis shaking her briskly. “Get up,” he says quickly, thrusting her shoes at her. “The village is under attack.”

Ashley drags on her shoes, stamping to get the fit right. They never sit well, these shoes, and she doesn’t have time for them to slowly adjust. “Qua – the attackers?”

“Looks like it,” Athos agrees, and she knows from his look that he caught the slip and will probably ask about it later. “You stay with Aramis or Porthos at all times, yes?”

Ashley nods quickly. d'Artagnan pulls his _main gauche_ from the back of his belt, offering it to her. “Just like old times,” he tells her, grinning.

“Just like,” Ashley agrees, wedging it into her belt. “Still prefer the pistol.”

“Still not happening.”

Porthos appears from the hall. “Are you coming?”

“We’re coming,” Athos says, sweeping a glance over them and heading out.

Ashley is passed back and forth between the two men for the first while, until she takes down a Quantron trying to kill Porthos and they realise that she can actually fight. After that, they loosen up a little. She’s still in their sights at all times, but they aren’t actually keeping her in arms’ reach, and they aren’t automatically spinning her out of harms’ way.

The skirt hampers her horribly. It’s almost impossible to kick or move with any speed. After the fourth Quantron, she drops behind Aramis for long enough to rip her skirt almost up to the waist. Aramis whistles in appreciation the first time she kicks a Quantron, but Porthos just cheers breathlessly.

The Quantrons keep coming for a while, and then they trail off, and then they stop. The survivors grab their disabled friends and drag them off, and Ashley’s glad for that too. She doesn’t need the Musketeers getting a look at them.

Porthos starts to chase them, but Athos calls him back. There’s a fire started on one side of the village, and they need to get it out before it spreads to the rest of the houses. Ashley joins in beating at the sparks and moving flammable things away, since no one will let her pick up a bucket.

Fire out, Athos sends her to fetch fresh water, and when she comes back Aramis is standing over d'Artagnan with bandages in hand. Ashley blinks, moving to offer him the water.

“Thank you,” he says absently, tilting d'Artagnan’s head. “Stay,” he says sharply when d'Artagnan tries to wriggle away.

“It’s nothing,” d'Artagnan protests.

“It’s a head wound. Don’t move.”

“Can I help?” Ashley asks.

Aramis shakes his head. “This isn’t serious. Take the water around, if anyone looks injured or is coughing a lot, send them this way.”

Ashley takes the water around to everyone she can see, including Athos, who waves her away, and Porthos, who scoops a couple of handfuls of water over his head and then grins at her. He’s clearing collapsed beams and wall parts and he doesn’t stop for long.

Ashley makes sure she’s got to everyone, directs the ones she can see with injuries to Aramis, and then goes back to Athos. “What can I do?”

Athos, standing at a slight distance and squinting at the scene, glances at her. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” It’s true enough; she’s achy and sore, but it’ll fade soon and she’s perfectly capable right now.

“I saw you fight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that style before.”

“It’s common enough where I come from.”

He nods, looking back at the scene again. Dawn is breaking and everything looks grey and blue, almost unreal. “You should fix your skirts, or find another somewhere.”

Ashley glances down. When she’s standing still, her skirt mostly looks intact, but when she’s moving around people can probably see her legs. “I’m not sure it can be fixed.”

“Find one somewhere, then. We don’t have time to be defending you right now.”

Ashley nods, turning away. She leaves the bucket, now only half full, beside Aramis. d'Artagnan is sitting to one side, one hand holding a wad of cloth against his head. “Are you all right?” she asks quietly.

“Yes.” He peels the wad away, looks at it and replaces it with a grimace. “It’s not serious, it doesn’t need stitching or anything. It’s just bleeding a lot.”

“Head wounds usually do.”

“Are you all right?” he asks, frowning.

“I’m fine.” He studies her and she insists “I’m fine. I’m just –“ 

She gestures vaguely towards the village. d'Artagnan follows the gesture and nods, seeming to understand. “It takes a while to calm down, doesn’t it.”

Ashley nods, grateful that he doesn’t need an explanation. She hasn’t had a fight like this since becoming a Ranger – she always knows she can morph if she has to – and she’s still slightly jittery, feeling exposed and unsure of herself.

“Where’s that water you were hauling around?”

“I left it with Aramis in case he needed it. Did you want some? I can go get it.”

d'Artagnan starts to shake his head and then stops, gritting his teeth for a moment. “I thought you might want some,” he says after a moment. “Did you have any?”

“No.” Now that she thinks about it, she is thirsty. The thought of drinking from that bucket, though… “I’ll get some fresh from the well.”

d'Artagnan nods, carefully. “Good. Wash your face, too. You’ll feel better.”

“Do you want some?”

He smiles. “Thank you.”

Porthos comes by as she’s wrestling with the bucket and hauls it up for her. “What kind of fighting was that?” he asks, steadying the bucket as she splashes her face and hands. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I learned it at home.”

Porthos nods and doesn’t push, and she smiles gratefully, taking the bucket and heading back to d'Artagnan. His head seems to have stopped bleeding, and she eyes it for a moment. “I can wash some of that blood out,” she offers.

“Thank you,” d'Artagnan says absently. He’s watching Athos and Aramis talk some distance away.

Ashley steps in front of him, blocking his view, and he blinks. “What…? Sorry. Yes, thank you, that would be very kind.”

“Tell me if I hurt you,” she tells him, stepping back out of his way and balancing the bucket beside him.

She takes her time about it, since no one seems to need her for anything at the moment. d'Artagnan’s still watching the others, but he relaxes a little as she works, cleaning the blood and dirt out of his hair.

She dries it as best she can with a clean rag and then stands back, sighing. “It’s not perfect, but I don’t want to get any closer to the wound.”

“It feels much better,” d'Artagnan assures her, looking away from the others at last. “Thank you, Ashley.”

"You're welcome." She turns to scan the village, sighing softly.

"No sign of your friends." It's not exactly a question, but she shakes her head anyway.

"No. No sign of them."

"Maybe they didn't have time to get here. It was a short fight," d'Artagnan offers.

"Maybe," she agrees, forcing a smile. "I need to go and see if I can find another skirt somewhere."

d'Artagnan very carefully does not look at her legs. "Ask at the inn, sometimes there are clothes left behind. Or the tavern maid might have something that would do."

"I will. Thank you." Gathering the material to hold it together, Ashley heads back towards the inn.

 

TJ presses a hand to Zhane's back to warn him, hunkering beside him. "Anything?"

Zhane shrugs, watching the village carefully. "They beat them off."

"They beat the Quantrons?"

Zhane points to two men. "They were fighting. At least, that one was, I didn't see the other, but there was a third as well, a younger one. I can't see him now."

"Fighting..."

"Swords, mostly. Thin whippy ones."

TJ studies them for a moment. "Musketeers."

"Your super soldiers?"

"Not super. Just very good." He watches carefully for a while before looking at Zhane. "Did you see which way the Quantrons went?"

Zhane points to their right, away from the village. "That way. And they took all the damaged ones, so they won't be moving too fast."

"They took the damaged ones," TJ repeats. "Why?"

Zhane shrugs, unconcerned. "Maybe they have the same wrong ideas about time line contamination as you do."

TJ makes a face at him. "Come on. We're not going to learn anything watching them talk. Let's go find the others."

Cassie is untangling her skirts from yet another bramble when they catch up to her; she glances up in relief. “Are you two ok?”

“We’re fine,” TJ assures her. “Come on, we should talk to the others.” He pulls away the last of the brambles and gestures her to go ahead.

Andros looks up as they slide into the little hollow. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Zhane tells him. “There’s Musketeers in the village, at least three, they took care of the attack. The Quantrons took their damaged and headed off that way.” He points again.

“The Musketeers didn’t follow?” Carlos asks.

“The village was on fire,” TJ explains. “They stayed to deal with that. But it’s mostly out, and the injured are taken care of. They’ll be moving soon, so we need to go if we’re going to stay ahead of them.”

“No sign of Ashley?” Cassie asks wistfully.

“Not yet,” TJ says quietly. “Probably she didn’t even know this was happening, it was over so fast. We’ll find her.”

Andros nods sharply. “Which way?”

“That way.” Zhane points again, and TJ has to hope he’s right; he’s completely lost track himself, and he doesn’t want to risk going too close to the village to get the directions straight again.

“Good. Let’s go.”

 

Aramis blows out a silent breath as their mysterious watchers fall back, deeper into the forest. “They’re gone,” he murmurs.

“Yes,” Athos agrees. Back turned to the forest, he’s been tracking the watchers by ear.

“Are we worried?” Aramis prods.

“If they meant us harm, they would have harmed us. The armoured men we just fought would not be watching us from cover; they would attack as soon as they saw us. This was someone else.”

“Ashley’s friends?”

“Maybe. Or maybe someone else. Either way, we’re not going looking. If they want us, they’ll come to us. Can d'Artagnan travel?”

“If he has to. I’d rather he didn’t.”

Athos glances towards the east. “We need to follow the trail before it goes cold.”

Aramis frowns. “It wasn’t a deep injury, no stitches needed, but he’s still going to be sore for a while.”

Athos shrugs. “Then you tell him he has to stay here.”

“Oh no, thank you. I’ll keep an eye on him. Or ask Ashley to. She seems to be getting along with him.”

“Doesn’t she,” Athos murmurs. “I thought perhaps she would stay here and help the villagers.”

“I think it unlikely, but you should feel free to suggest it to her. Let me know, so that I can stay out of range.”

Athos rolls his eyes. “Go and find Porthos, get us ready to leave. I’ll deal with the others.”

Aramis salutes and wanders off. Athos resists the urge to look behind him, crossing the square to find d'Artagnan sitting on a wall behind the inn.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, tilting d'Artagnan’s head to examine the wound. The blood’s been mostly cleaned away and he can see the closed, shallow cut.

“I’m fine,” d'Artagnan tells him. Athos makes a vaguely disbelieving noise and d'Artagnan amends, “I’m a little sore. But I’m not dizzy or feeling sick. I promise.”

“Good,” Athos says. “We’re moving out; I want to get onto that trail before we lose it.”

“I’m ready,” d'Artagnan promises.

“Where’s Ashley?”

“She went to ask the inn keeper about getting a new skirt.” d'Artagnan squints up at him; Athos notes it. Light sensitivity is a bad sign. “Are you leaving her here?”

“Do you think she’d stay?” Athos asks rhetorically. d'Artagnan quirks a smile and Athos nods. “I’ll find her and tell her what we’re doing. If she wants to stay, good. We know these are the men she’s been fighting and we have the information she’s been able to give us.” 

“Aramis said she helped them. Maybe saved them.”

“And she’s a civilian girl and if Treville ever finds out about this…” He lets the threat trail off.

d'Artagnan nods, pushing to his feet and wobbling only slightly. “I’ll go find the others, help with the horses.”

“Take it carefully,” Athos orders him. “Tell Aramis if you’re having trouble.”

d'Artagnan’s salute is rather more sloppy than Aramis’, but Athos lets him off, heading for the inn. The inn keeper nods when Athos asks after Ashley.

“She came in here. My wife took her upstairs to find her something to wear.”

“We’ll be leaving now,” Athos tells him. “I will send to the garrison, Captain Treville will see that you get aid to rebuild.”

“Thank you,” the man says fervently.

Athos goes upstairs and packs up the few belongings they’d unpacked. He’s just finishing up when there’s a tap on the door and Ashley looks in. “Oh, good, he said you were in here,” she says.

“We’re getting ready to move out,” Athos tells her. “You can stay here and we’ll pick you back up on our way back through.”

“Or, we can skip the argument, pretend we’ve had it, and I’ll come with you.” Ashley smiles at the look on his face. “I helped. You can’t say I didn’t. And I can take care of myself.”

“You are still under our protection,” Athos says, but it’s mostly for form and he knows she knows it. “You will do everything, and only those things, I say.”

“Yes,” she agrees.

“And you’ll ride with me this time. d'Artagnan will find it hard enough, I think.”

She nods quickly. “Is he all right?”

“He will be. Aramis will take care of him. But head wounds, even mild ones, are painful and tricky and we need to make things as easy as we can for him.”

Ashley nods again. “Can I help with that?”

Athos glances at the bags in his hands. “No. Thank you. The others are down in the stables, go and find them while I settle with the inn keeper.”

It doesn’t take long – the man refuses to take more than a handful of coins, barely the worth of the food they ate, in gratitude for their efforts. Athos thanks him, promises again that they will get help, and goes out to join the others.

d'Artagnan watches blearily as Ashley mounts Athos’ horse, frowning. “Ashley, what’re…”

“Your horse carried two all yesterday,” Athos points out, swinging into the saddle and waiting for Ashley to adjust.

d'Artagnan blinks, but they’re in motion before he can come up with an answer to that, and after that he’s concentrating on staying on and not falling behind. Aramis is keeping an eye on him, Porthos scouting ahead, and Athos concentrates on watching behind them.

Porthos drops back after a while, skirting Aramis and d'Artagnan to join Athos, leaning in to talk to him. “Someone else is following the trail.”

“Are you sure?” Athos asks.

“Yes. There’s quite a difference between our armoured friends and these extra people.”

“How many?”

Porthos shrugs. “Three, six.”

“Five?” Ashley suggests from behind Athos’ back.

“Maybe,” Porthos agrees.

“Your friends?” Athos asks over his shoulder.

“There are five of them. And if they know about these attacks, they’re trying to stop them. That’s what we do.”

“Is it,” Athos murmurs. “How far behind them are we, Porthos?”

“An hour, maybe. They’re on foot, we’ll catch them up pretty soon.”

He nods. “Go back up to the front, warn me when we’re closer.”

Porthos ambles back to the front and Athos says over his shoulder “You and your friends fight these people. Why?”

“Because we can, and because someone has to.” Ashley adjusts her position slightly. “Two of my friends lost their homes and families, everything they care about, to these attacks. They wanted to make sure it never happens again. The rest of us joined them to help.”

“Just because.”

“Just because.”

“And how do you support yourselves?”

“Odd jobs. Sometimes the people we save give us things.”

Athos can’t exactly argue that one, not when the inn keeper gave them free room and board. “You’re very young, Ashley. Isn’t there anyone else who can do this?”

“Not where we came from.”

Ahead, Porthos makes a gesture and they all stop, Aramis reaching for d'Artagnan’s reins to keep him close. Athos watches as Porthos listens intently before shaking his head, starting off again.

“And we’re not that young,” Ashley adds, but softly enough that he thinks he wasn’t meant to hear.

They ride for a while longer before Porthos pulls them to a halt again. “If we ride any further, they’ll hear us,” he tells Athos.

“Then we walk from here.” He leans over to help Ashley down and dismounts after her, passing his reins to Aramis. “Ashley.” He waits for her to look at him. “If these are your friends we’re following, you don’t go to them. Not until we’re sure there’s no danger. We’re very close to your armour wearing men. Understand?”

“Understand,” she agrees, drifting towards d'Artagnan.

Athos looks at him, then at Aramis, raising an eyebrow. Aramis shrugs lightly. “As well as expected.”

Athos sighs, looking to Porthos. “Let’s go.”

 

“We’re being followed,” Carlos murmurs, keeping his voice down.

“Yeah, I know,” TJ agrees. “The Musketeers, I guess.”

“Are we worried?”

TJ shrugs. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Just out walking in the woods?” Carlos suggests. “On the trail of a troop of Quantrons who’ve been attacking villages around here?”

“Sorry, what? Quantrons? Never heard of them here in 1630s France.”

Carlos snorts a laugh. “How close are we?” he calls ahead.

“Close enough that you shouldn’t be shouting!” Zhane replies.

Carlos makes a face at him, poking Cassie, who’s just in front of him. “Tell them we’re being followed,” he says, only a little quieter than before.

Cassie passes the message along indulgently. Andros and Zhane have a brief discussion before Zhane turns back, coming to join them. “Someone dangerous?”

“We think it’s the Musketeers.” TJ half turns, looking backwards. “They’re off the horses.”

“So?” Zhane says blankly.

“So they’re close enough they think we’ll hear them. We have to get off the trail.”

“We need the trail,” Andros says from somewhere up ahead.

“Just move into the trees. We can follow it from there.”

Andros sighs and steps off the trail into the trees, staying just deep enough that they should be hidden from the Musketeers. Cassie sighs, gathering her skirts up as tightly as possible as she follows him. Zhane slips after them.

TJ waves Carlos on, leaning in the shade of a tree until the Musketeers come into view. As soon as he sees them he slips soundlessly away, joining the others. “Four of them, the ones from the village,” he reports quietly.

“Well, at least we outnumber them,” Zhane suggests.

“Not going to help,” TJ murmurs to Carlos, who shrugs.

Andros, in the lead, steps between two trees into a clearing and stops dead. Cassie, just behind him and occupied with her skirt, walks into him without realising, and she almost goes over before Carlos steadies her.

TJ and Zhane push through to join them, staring at the group of Quantrons. “That’s a lot of Quantrons,” TJ says conversationally.

“Maybe we should do something about that?” Zhane suggests.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” TJ glances along the group. 

Andros meets his eyes, nodding firmly. “Let’s do it.”

The Quantrons finally seem to realise they should be doing something, swarming towards them. Carlos and TJ spread out to either side of Cassie, compensating as best they can for her skirts and corset, trying to help her where they can. Andros and Zhane are working seamlessly together further into the clearing, taking Quantrons down all around.

The Musketeers pour into the clearing from the far side, shouting and drawing their swords. TJ can’t spare them more than a glance, but they seem to be doing well. The Quantrons are confused by the sword fighting tactics and the Musketeers are cutting through them. TJ turns his attention back to his own fight, concentrating on putting these Quantrons down.

His concentration is shattered when one of the Musketeers shouts “Ashley!”


End file.
